Pickle lept from the craft to greet me, a broad grin spread across his youthful face. I found the cargo hold packed nearly to capacity with the supplies of the others, but wasted no time hurling my cargo canister in, and slamming the hatch shut.

"Whew, that was close." I confided in Pickle as he risked a glance at the small crowd which still lingered outside of the closed establishment.

I piled into the craft, and the anti-matter engines spooled to life. In my compromised condition I was not at the time particularly worried about Dennis' ability to pilot the ship. Once I was secured in my harness we blasted off to find our lodging base.

Within seconds the glowing indicator of our temporary base was within sight...

We unleashed our cargo from the hold, and made our way to the office in order to negotiate for a temporary base of operations.

Pickle had made our intentions known long ago, and spoke the secret password to the agent at the desk who then took all necessary actions to secure us a base. He was a pleasant man, as pleasant as anyone could be expected to be at 3:30 in the morning at their job.

Magnetic entry cards secured, we made our way to the base.

I followed behind Pickle, and The Immortal, yielding to their navigation skills at this hour, and in short order the two of them had uncovered the entry point to our secret temporary base.

Pickle and The Immortal stopped near the entry point in order to survey the base, while I, showing my trademark brazenness dashed forth into the base, and secured the premium locations for my cargo.

The two of them began to discuss the merits of various sleeping arrangements while I wasted no time in beginning to strip off my clothes. Utilizing duplicity and underhanded tactics, I secured the majority of the hangers and hanging space for myself, making certain to store my sweater, shirt, and jeans in a manner that would ensure their remaining in crease free condition, then hung my garment bag nearby.

I stood in my boxer shorts, rummaging through my cargo canister to find my sleeping suit when the notion of pushing the two beds together was raised. I deferred to their judgement with a shrug, and donned my scarlet colored Ralph Lauren pajama pants emblazoned with an over-sized horse, and similarly colored "Roger That!" t-shirt.

As Pickle and The Immortal prepared to push the beds together, moving the nightstand and plotting their actions, I spied a prime piece of real estate on the bed just near the wall, and with a resounding thud collapsed upon it claiming it as my own.

Not interested in anything else that would transpire in the waking world this day, I battled my way beneath the covers, and nodded off in short order.

As Pickle and The Immortal prepared to push the beds together, moving the nightstand and plotting their actions, I spied a prime piece of real estate on the bed just near the wall, and with a resounding thud collapsed upon it claiming it as my own.

J

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The Motel 6 smoke detector had a spy camera inside, and I had the misfortune of seeing the photo of Jolly, Joel, Pickle, and Dennis in bed together. I am not sure who is who.

The Motel 6 smoke detector had a spy camera inside, and I had the misfortune of seeing the photo of Jolly, Joel, Pickle, and Dennis in bed together. I am not sure who is who.

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When I was in Vegas last week a friend of mine of 30 years admitted that he had a 9 month relationship with a girl that looked just like Mila K. But, he later found out she was previously a man. I dunno how that happens.

One eye peeled open, and then the second. My world was a blur. Disoriented I blinked several times to clear the film from my optical receptors. Slowly my internal data banks began to compile, and I remembered where I was and what had transpired the night before.

Closing one eye to enhance my vision, I scanned the area, noting that The Immortal had ended up in bed with me. Fighting my way free of the oppressive covers, I heard stirring and some unintelligible vocalization from Pickle at the far end of the bed. "What time is it?" I croaked, my vocal chords in dire condition due to lack of lubrication.

"Eight...Thirty?" he mustered sleepily.

I grunted with displeasure and determination, my internal clock which usually wakes be by 5:30 at the latest having failed me this day. I fought off the rest of the oppressive blankets to stand on wobbly legs resplendent in my sleepwear. After a brief visit to the hydrostatic decompression chamber to regulate my internal pressure I returned to see that my companions had shaken off the grip of slumber.

A mild thumping resonated through my head, as if a very small man with a ball-pein hammer was trying to keep a metronomic beat inside of my cranium. It had been some time since I had experienced such a thing, but it was nothing that would hamper me, and nothing that a bit of coffee wouldn't cure.

"Let's get this dog and pony show on the road." I decreed, glad to see that instinct had taken over the night before and that I had plugged my com device into the charging port though I had no recollection of such action.

"Who's going in first?" Pickle queried.

"I am good, I showered before I left the New York system." You go. I decreed.

With a nod, the disheveled Pickle staggered into the sanitation area, taking with him his small bag of toiletries.

Working with skill, I patched my portable mainframe through the base's wireless network, and logged into the book of face for I knew my people needed me. Discreetly I hacked into the TTW Senate forum to see how the protest of my ban was coming along. I had no intention of becoming a martyr, and so it was with pleasure that I noted the shock and confusion that resonated through the forums at the unjust revocation of my standing.

Pickle emerged from the sanitation chamber preceded by a roiling cloud of steam, and The Immortal sprang into action like a bolt of lightning. Pickle requested permission to partake in my toothpaste having made the amateurish mistake of forgetting to equip himself properly.

In what seemed like no more than forty five seconds, The Immortal emerged from the sanitation chamber perfectly clean. Pickle and I exchanged looks of confusion as to how any human being could shower so quickly. Shrugging in acceptance of his obviously advanced and super efficient technique, we went on with our preparations.

I summoned up the Spotify player on my portable main frame, and flooded our base with the sweet sounds of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. As Rondo Alla Turca melodically emanated from the speakers of my portable mainframe I smiled with pleasure. Pickle looked upon me with confusion, and The Immortal nodded with approval. I would inflict culture upon Pickle regardless of any resistance he mounted.

Sweet tunage in place, I made my preparations. Quickly, I scraped the barnacles from my teeth, and then with adroit maneuvering of my hand carved tortoise shell comb, got the majority of my hair pointing in the same direction.

I donned my jet black shorts, and teal 2009 Federer polo. This day I chose to wear girly short socks instead of proper crew socks in order to achieve maximum exposure to the glorious rays of the sun. I laced up my gleaming new Vapors, equipped my timepiece, holstered my com device, and grasped a fistfull of credits.

My sabers stowed in my Wilson backpack, I looked around to my two similarly equipped companions. We knew that it would be many hours before Dennis could rouse himself, and that we needed to get a head start on the mission.

The time had come for the three of us to hit the dusty trail, and so on foot we set out.

The deadbolt released with a metallic clunk, and The Immortal opened the portal, allowing the light of day to spill into our chambers. The three of us strode brazenly out into the warm Florida sun, smiling to be out of the bitter cold of the New York system.

We knew it would be hours yet before Dennis could muster an appreciable level of consciousness and functionality, so we set out on foot.

Our natural athleticism allowed us to traverse the terrain with speed despite being on foot, and with maps from Google Mainframe beamed down into our com devices, we were able to deftly navigate the small town.

I grinned as I noticed a beaten down pub across the street, knowing full well that it was the sort of place where memories were made. Another block traversed revealed a supply depot of the supermarket variety, and knowing that supplies would soon be needed we made a detour.

Pickle and The Immortal let their impetuousness get the better of them, and rushed into the supply depot. I a seasoned veteran of many procurement missions, kept my head about me, and requisitioned a rolling cargo cage before entering knowing the burden of supplies would be too much to carry by hand.

We made our way winding through the depot and commissioned local and imported produce; plums, bananas, and oranges. These fruits were supplemented with mixed nuts, and for hydration purposes we procured a case of water, and several half gallon containers of Gatoraid. I looked upon the toxic substance Gatoraid which had been foisted upon the masses as necessary battle supplementation. I would not partake in the corporate charade to poison the masses with excessive sugar and burdensome pricing in return for no actual benefit.

I was under-caffeinated, and was lost within the depths of my own mind, and so did not notice the cause for our company halting, and engaging immediately an elder gentleman nearly thirty feet away.

After a moment, I realized that I was walking alone as my companions made haste towards the gentleman, and so I hurriedly turned the wheeled cage, and made speed to rejoin them in case we needed to perpetuate violence upon this man.

As I approached, I could tell from the body language of my companions that they intended to interrogate this man for information, and not murder him in the aisles of the supply depot.

We cornered the man, pinning him up against an orange stand, and I sealed off his only route of escape with the cargo cage. Suddenly I realized why it was that we were interrogating this particular denizen, as he wore a "Nike Tennis" shirt, and tennis shoes.

Knowing my strengths, I hung back and let them do the talking. I was not the most silver tongued man in the cosmos, especially not before I fed my Kaf addiction, which served to curb my general disdain for humanity.

"He is taking too long to answer the questions, he is lying, kill him!" the voice in my head pleaded. I grasped the handle of the cargo cage my corded muscles flexing, but I summoned patience as information began to flow from our prisoner.

He told us that battle grounds were nearby, but they would be occupied completely until noon, with many of the combatants being French folk. He claimed that they were likely no match for us however. The Immortal quickly picked up on his duplicity, and attempt to escape with his life through use of flattery, and asked how he knew such a thing.

The man quickly realized that the conversation was not going in a favorable direction, and tried to weasel his way to freedom saying that we looked to be at least 5.0 level combat legionnaires.

Having enough of his cryptic directions, and ominous fortellings, we let the man escape, and he scampered off.

We made our way to the paying station, and each of us offered forth a fistful of credits. As our purchases were being compartmentalized, I cornered a youngish female in the employ of the supply depot. "I need coffee." I confided in her, the slight tremble in my voice accentuating the urgency of my situation.

"We have coffee in the bakery section, it is nothing fancy, $1 per cup." she told me nearly apologetically.

What was it about me that caused people to constantly think that I would not tolerate common things, and only partook in finery? Shrugging, I doffed my satchel, handing it over to my companions. I instructed them to divide the supply payload between the three of our backpacks, that we may evenly share the burden, while I went to investigate this non-fancy coffee.

Leaving them at the front of the depot, I made my way to the baked goods department, and located the station of which the lady spoke. There was a coffee machine, as well as two crusty pots which carried the acrid aroma of overbaked Kaf.

I am also now officially caught up on this thread, but I am a bit sad by the miller light part. I always imagined you as a scotch type of guy. although 15ish of anything is impressive.

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Oh, I am quite the scotch drinker. In my early 20s I wouldn't be caught dead drinking a **** water beer. Now I don't mind drinking it with a burger or wings in a casual place, or after tennis. In a nice place I will drink a good scotch or bourbon, or with some friends. My vodka days are mostly behind me, but I will partake if the occasion merits it. Gin on a hot summer day, cognac on a cold and miserable day, red wine whenever, white if I must, bubbly when the occasion merits.

I'm in my early 20s so unless it is craft beer or Guinness, I go for the scotch. my vote for best money to value ratio goes to black label j walker. as soon as the semester ends and I sell my text books I'm going straight to the store for blue label.